Dragon Sight
by I Am James Moriarty
Summary: Draco Malfoy. Britain's Top Assassin. The Death Eaters, a secret society run in the catacombs of the bustling city of London. His father was an embarrassment to the Malfoy name, sloppy fingers and a less than covert lifestyle. Now, at the age of twenty, he's received one of his biggest 'jobs'. Opposition leader, James Potter. Alternate Universe
1. Chapter 1

**__"Jim Moriarty. Hi."**

**_-I am James Moriarty_**

**Disclaimer- The characters in this story are owned by JK Rowling and Warner Bros. No offence is meant.**

Draco Malfoy hauled the beyond heavy duffle bag behind him as he climbed up the twelfth flight of stairs. He grinned slightly, his thirteenth hit this month just happened to be on, you guessed it, the thirteenth floor of the anonymous bank building. Twenty possible exits, he noted mentally without bothering to glance up from unloading his bag. Two fire exits on this level and two above and below. Four windows, two faced brick walls, one looked over the city and the window where he was situated in front of overlooked a busy city street.

He unloaded the tripod and carefully clicked the pieces together as he had done millions of times before. Peering cautiously out of the window he made sure he could not be seen by anyone. This building had been closed for the day, exterminators. It hadn't taken much to bribe them, one thousand each for them to come back in two hours and forget he was ever here. It hardly made a thread of a dint in his bank account, he hadn't looked at a bank statement in over a year but he knew he was nearing on one billion pounds. After all, he was the most sought after assassin in the UK. Small and dexterous, a hand steadier than anyone in the business and an eye as sharp as his tongue.

His customer today wanted the governor of California gone; the Governor was visiting London for a conference with the Prime Minister. Draco's employer was Theodore Nott, his mistress Astoria Greengrass was wife to the Governor and Nott was definitely the jealous type. The two were planning to elope to South America after the death, hiding from the paparazzi. Astoria would claim she was "returning to family in Brazil". Nott and Astoria would live happily ever after, blah, blah, blah.

Draco brought his birthday present from five years ago out of the green canvas bag and set in on the assembled stand. He loved how everything fitted together with a simple click, funny how something so simple could be so lethal. Draco pulled the black woollen cap further over his platinum blonde hair, it was easily recognisable, not the best thing for an assassin. No matter how many times he dyed it, how many stylists he had been to, not one of them had managed to change the colour for more than three weeks.

The blonde carefully placed the scope on top of the gun and locked it into place. Draco had broken his last scope when some Neanderthals tried to mug him; needless to say he was the victor. It annoyed him beyond belief, not that he had been attacked, that was trivial and boring. What annoyed him was the fact that he would have to wait a month until his supplier could ship him another scope. Those things couldn't just be sent through the post as well as customs stopping everything suspicious. It would've been faster for Draco to pick it up personally but the less people who knew about him the better.

The Malfoy heir unrolled a small mat; it was easy to be caught as a sniper by the state of your knees. He loaded the gun with a dart; bullets for this job would be too messy. Draco had bought the darts from a supplier in Tanzania, Severus Snape, a colleague of his and a member of the Death Eaters. Snape had created a poison from the local flora, a substance that would enter the body and as soon as the person closed their eyes for more than 7.5 minutes the poison would react while the dart disintegrated without a trace.

Draco leant forward and looked through the scope, feeling the bullseye pattern imprint into his eye. He had to swivel the scope before he found his target, a rather tall, blonde man with stereotypical tanned skin and white teeth. The man stood out like a sore thumb in a crowd full of pale Englishmen.

He sighed loudly, why was it always the pretty ones he had to knock off? Sure the Governor was a little old for his taste but it was a damn waste to see all those good looking guys on files being posted to his door.

Why was this man so damn predictable? Every day since he had been here at Midday he would exit the American Embassy and walk three blocks to 'Le Carios' a ritzy Italian restaurant. He would take almost exactly an hour to eat before exiting. The Governor, a Mr Victor Johnson, would then take a walk through the botanical gardens and pass on the opposite side of the street to the window where he was currently kneeling. He glanced absently at his custom made Rolex, 1.07pm. He was instructed to only shoot after 1.10pm, which would be precisely when his bodyguard would take leave. There was a window of less than a minute before the next bodyguard on watch would come around the corner in his black Mercedes.

He counted the seconds; one hundred and seventy six was what he was up to when the tall man came around the corner. His body guard, Michael patted Victor on the back before checking his watch. When Draco looked at Michael he couldn't help but observe small things around the man.

Slightly damp around the end of the pants legs. He's been in a public restroom and not for the usual reason. Slight white powder on his neck, cocaine. The man has a lover, female, Australian. He still has a love bite half hidden under his collar with traces of a lipstick only available in Australia. His fingers are stained with paint, children's paint. He has three of them, one of them has pneumonia. The script is showing in his front, left pocket.

Another quick glance to the Rolex once the guard disappeared down the street. 1.11pm. Open season, he thought grimly. Johnson sat down on a flaking park bench and took the Blackberry from the pocket in his suit jacket. He placed his eye in front of the scope and swivelled it to face the man. Draco moved the target to Johnson's shoulder; he didn't need more than a second before he pulled the trigger. The dart flew with deadly accuracy; it was about the size of a finger nail and half as wide. It burrowed itself firmly into the muscle; Victor slapped a hand over his arm as if an insect had bitten him. That was the effect of the Sleeper Dart.

Draco pulled his tripod and gun apart absent mindedly as the Governors new bodyguard appeared around the corner. Malfoy didn't bother looking back out the window; he silently finished packing his mat and ammunition box into the duffel bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder once again, his slate grey Converses making no noise as Draco padded down the twelve flights of stairs. Draco remembered at the last minute to turn the security system, rule one of being an assassin, a hit man, a sniper, be invisible, leave no trace.

Draco made a point not to go anywhere near the now infected Governor, his face was one that was remembered easily. He glided seamlessly into an alley full of dumpsters and pulled out his Armani woollen coat. He placed dress pants over his grey sweat pants and Italian leather shoes in place of his Converses. The Sniper placed his 'working clothes' into a garbage bag, identical to the others crowding the bin.

Draco pulled his iPhone from the grey, overcoats large pockets and pressed the picture of a snake in his contact list.

"I've done it. Make sure Nott puts the money in my account by 5 o'clock," he commanded in a steely tone.

"Are you sure the dart reached him?" asked his father.

"I never miss," he replied simply before hanging up and shoving the phone deeply into his pocket. Who was he to Lucius to challenge his accuracy? Lucius had started out like him, one of the youngest hit men in the world but his aim was average and his hands shaky. His father was then forced to give it up and become one of the men behind the scenes. He had let his identity slip too many times so when Draco was only eight Lucius publically faked his death. The Malfoy's are an incredibly influential family. Narcissa, his mother, was heiress to the Black family and a full time socialite. His father Lucius was the second in command of the Death Eaters, a society of purity that Draco had belonged to before he was born. Lucius was a minister in the English cabinet, his power as a Death Eater was the reason for a position. Death Eaters can be very persuasive when we want to be.

The youngest Malfoy didn't like to work with the other snipers; they were idiotic and seemed to want to get caught. The Death Eaters, for lack of a better definition are a society of assassins.

Draco glided through the thick crowds, thankful he had abandoned his duffle bag in the dumpster. One of the doors in that alley belonged to Café Michel, a safe house for all Death Eaters below the surface of the quaint tea shop. Vincent Crabbe, another colleague, ran the café. Draco had texted him earlier and told him to send the bags to his apartment.

Malfoy's pocket started to buzz; he growled under his breath and brought the screen in front of his face.

_Has he died yet?_

_Astoria xx_

He narrowed his eyes; all of his clients were the same. This whole thing excited them, they felt like they were being incredibly fiendish when in fact it just made Draco and the Death Eaters want to snicker madly. Clients annoyed him, Draco needed to get out, he was twenty years old for Salazar's sake! Yet he was still asked for ID every time he entered a pub, it took unbelievable amounts of restrain not to quickly snap the bartenders neck.

The blonde didn't bother to stop walking as he forced out a reply.

_It is done_

_-Dragon_

The meaning of his name in Latin was his nickname of sorts, no one except his parents and the Dark Lord used his real name. Draco went to return the phone to his pocket but it buzzed madly in his hand.

_Did you get him? Because if you did I don't want this traced back to me or Teddy_

_Astoria_

He bit his lip, Draco needed to punch something, kill someone. He never got the same satisfaction from using the darts as he did from bullets. Why does nobody understand? I am Draco Malfoy, the most highly sought after assassin in England, maybe he world.

_I never miss. _

_D_

God this woman was infuriating, of course this usually happened but it didn't mean he had to like it. Draco turned his collar up against the bitter cold London wind. His phone started to hum again; he made a move to throw it at the wall. Several men in suits gave him a weird look. He pulled his beanie further over his face and pulled the coat collar up higher. Draco turned the phone over in his hand, the green and silver snake flashed on the display. With much regret he pressed the green phone.

"Father,"

"Draco, I've had a call for you," Lucius said grimly

"Why didn't they use my number? I no longer want you and mother sorting my affairs. I am not a child"

"This was not a client, at least not a public one" Tone of nervousness in his voice, he's running late for someone. There's a woman in the background. Her panting was quite distracting.

"Father, must you consort with me whilst you are with your mistresses? Tell the young lady you are with that her breathing difficulty is because of lung cancer and not the common cold as she believes" A small wail from the woman could be heard echoing from the other end. Lucius shh'ed her loudly. "It may be treatable but not likely, twelve months at the most"

"Draco," Lucius chided, "I want you in headquarters this afternoon"

"No," he rejected simply

"Draco," warned his father, "You will be in the headquarters this afternoon,"

"You do not have the control that you think you have over me. I shall come to headquarters tomorrow morning," Draco stated, removing the phone from his ear.

"Draco!" screeched his father distantly; he pressed end call before turning the phone off. He couldn't stand any more from clients or his father.

Draco moved with the crowd distractedly, he was searching for a cab to take him to his apartment. London rush hour, he really should've known better.

"Hey! Do you need a cab?" he turned to face the curb. A young boy with shaggy black haired looked at him. Draco pointed to his chest and mouthed 'Me?'

"Yeah, you. Do you need a cab?" the boy had bright green eyes and a sculptured face with high cheekbones.

Draco tried not to look surprised, "Sure."

The boy shuffled over and made room for him. The cab was almost unbearably warm; he wished his overcoat was easier to remove. Draco shut the door and eyed the cabbie. Middle Eastern, Indian to be specific. Divorced and re married with six children, his mother died yesterday. The details were written on a napkin, ready to be put in a newspaper.

"I'm Harry," the boy held out his hand, "Harry Potter"

Draco smirked, this boy was simply adorable. Recently broken up with his boyfriend, obviously gay. Works in a retailer, clothes, some of the threads are still on his coat. He has heart trouble; there is a scar on his chest that's barely visible. Maybe a transplant more likely, palpitations.

Potter seemed upset that Draco hadn't shook his hand and made a move to withdraw it. Draco grabbed his soft hand, obviously doesn't do many chores.

"Thomas," introduced Draco, "Thomas Felton,"

Potter smiled and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you Thomas, where're you heading?"

Draco rattled his address to the driver, before reclining back in his seat. He couldn't help but worry about his sniper rifle; if that idiot Crabbe damaged it there would be hell to pay.

The cabbie cursed in Indian as another cab pulled in front of him in the gridlocked street.

"Well I think we could be here for a while. So what do you do Thomas?" chattered Potter.

"I'm a student at the London Academy of Arts. I study acting and musical theatre," lied Draco, wondered by how beautifully the words slipped off his tongue.

"Ahh," Potter smiled, "An actor. Anything I would've seen you in?"

"Well now I'm in this cab. That's probably the high point of my career," he joked lightly.

Potter laughed, Draco couldn't help but admire how beautiful he looked when he smiled. "And what about you then Mr Potter?"

"Harry, please. Mr Potter is my dad. I work in that big shopping centre across from the Thames, you know the one?"

Draco nodded. "You work in the Converse shop, in the eastern wing."

Harry looked shocked, "How did you know that?"

"Your shoes. Those Converses aren't due to be released for another six weeks, they have you name on the heel. Most likely a present from your employer, no young man would have his name stamped on his shoe. The coat you are wearing still has strands of fabric on them; the Eastern shop sells apparel while the other only sells shoes. It was no difficult deduction," he explained boredly, picking at his fingernails.

Harry's eyes grew to a comical size, "That was amazing!" He studied his jacket, searching for the threads on his jacket.

Draco shrugged, "Not really. I just observed," Harry smiled and shook his head in disbelief. The two started talking, Draco continued to feel him lies about the life of a Mr Tom Felton. Harry was incredibly easy to talk to; he laughed at every joke and placed his hand on Draco's knee on more than several occasions.

"So I told him…"

"You can keep the muffin but the pancakes are mine!" shrieked Harry with amusement before doubling over in his seat. Draco smiled, Harry looked absolutely delicious. His cheeks were flushed, his lips bright pink and his ink black hair was plastered against his forehead.

"Mr Felton this is your stop," warbled the cabbie. "That'll be fifty eight pounds" Harry raised his eyebrows at the price and immediately rummaged for his wallet to check if he would have enough for his half of the fair.

Draco pulled out several notes and gave them to the man. "This is for mine and Mr Potter's fair. Keep the change."

Harry gushed, "I can accept that Tom. It's too much!"

"Nonsense, I'm sure you'll repay the favour when we meet again," Draco gave his most charming smile and exited the cab.

"Tom, wait!" Draco turned with a smirk.

"Yes?"

Harry pressed a slip of paper into his hand, "My number,"

Draco nodded courtly and pressed a fifty pound note into his hand. He leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear. "Buy yourself dinner. I know for a fact you haven't eaten today"

Harry blushed, "Thank you, Tom"

Draco smirked and stepped away from the cab. Watching it disappear into the distance before walking into his flat. It was the pent house suit of a building, his parents payed for it. A present for his eighteenth birthday. Draco had ten luxuary sports cars but the only one parked at his flat was the Nissan 350Z. The others were at the manor, he didn't want to attract more attention to himself. Yes, the cars were completely unnecessary but, hey, when you're a teenage assassin there aren't many other things to spend a fortune on.

He said a quick, "Good evening" to the woman behind the desk before entering the glass elevator. Draco couldn't wait until he could curl up in his Egyptian cotton sheets and sleep until noon, though he had told his father he would come to HQ in the morning. His apartment was expensive, obviously. As you walked in to the right was a fitted stainless steel kitchen, to the left a coatroom. The entire living area was open plan and was full of white leather couches, black shag rugs and silver pillows. Draco didn't spend much time here anyway; it was all such a waste. Further through the massive apartment were two huge industrial doors that lead in to a bedroom larger than most entire flats. His bed room was coloured black, white and silver with huge patterns and mirrored surfaces. The bed was covered in black and white sheets and a huge black feather doona. A door on the left went to his ensuite; a door on the right went to his dressing area and walk in wardrobe.

The rooms were painted bone white, the wall behind the bed head consisted only of a huge window that showed off the sun to perfection every morning. A black African snake wood dresser stood only for decoration to the side of the room, with its matching bed side tables. A white stone fireplace provided the much needed warmth in the coolest London months. With its silvery sheer curtains the whole place looked absolutely sinful, which was more than fitting since it had been the setting for more than a few one night stands.

Draco chucked his Armani coat into the room by the door before entering his bedroom and removing the rest of his clothes. He placed on his silk pyjamas and pulled back the black and white sheets. He didn't bother to set the alarm on his watch and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

**Review if you want the next chapter**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's Note:_**

**Well, this is certainly an interesting turn of events. Who would have thought that my first story would have such a great and encouraging response? I would like to thank all of you who reviewed, favourited, followed or even the people who simply read this chapter. Special thanks to_ Quirrel,_ _Mid Teen Crisis, xxGrAcExx, Atari9 and Agent Kittens_**_  
_

**"You're just getting that now?"**

_**- I am James Moriarty**_

**Disclaimer- The characters in this story are owned by JK Rowling and Warner Bros. No offence is meant.**

* * *

Riiinnngggg!

"Mmmmm"

Riiinnngggg!

"Arrggghhh"

Riiinnngggg!

"Sweet Salazar!" Draco screamed. He reached for his phone and prepared to throw it at the wall when the icon for his father flashed onto the screen. Draco sneered viciously before begrudgingly clicking accept.

"Father," he greeted coldly.

"Draco, where are you?"

"In my apartment. Where else would I be?"

"In the office, like we agreed last night"

"By my recount, _we _didn't agree. _You _agreed"

His father sniffed, "I want you here in by the hour Draco. Someone has a special task for you."

Draco rolled his eyes; of course the 'someone' was Riddle. Lucius' tone always seemed to get high and nervous whenever he was mentioned. How he survived that long as an assassin his son would never know.

After lying on the cool cotton linen with his eyes closed, he was sadly reminded that today wasn't going to be a morning of cherry pancakes and Belgium hot chocolate. It was a work day. And then that great big entity decided to name Sunday as a day of rest. No one ever considers assassins. Draco seemed to stare at the door to his bathroom for hours, _Come on...It's just over there. But it is cold beyond the blankets. You sound like your bloody father. _That seemed to do it. Draco sat and rubbed a hand over his too soft face, wiping the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

He shed his pyjamas like a silken skin and stepped into the luxurious bathroom. The freezing air wrapping itself like a cloak around the pale man. The black tiles seemed to crackle under the stony flesh of his foot, crackle like stone, crackle like electricity. There was a sharp crack as Draco touched the silver tap. _'Magic' _he thought with a sly grin. No matter how his father seemed to drill it into him- the image of the small vein that pulse from Lucius' forehead when he was angry was thoroughly implanted in his mind- he couldn't help but feel the spark of power fly through him as he pulled a trigger, or cut through an artery. The sheets of hot steam fled from the showerhead, enveloping him in a small cloud as he pulled off his boxers and stepped inside. Draco tilted his head back with a sigh. Heaven.

Malfoy practically purred as the steaming water ran down him. It reminded him of rain; Draco had always loved rain which meant he was the victim of more than a few childhood colds. He tipped his head back into the stream and washed his face, rubbing fingers into his scalp. Draco took the bottle of black cherry scented body gel and rubbed the sweet smelling concoction onto his body. He took note of the long and jagged scars, the wounds that had never really healed, and the bruises that left purple imperfections over him. Draco traced a finger down the 'S' shaped scar, Tom Riddles' work. He was thirteen when he was sworn into the Death Eaters. Draco had made the mistake of speaking out, not knowing that he required permission to speak in front of the Dark Lord. Lord Riddle had taken a knife, carelessly fastened to Lucius' side and tore off the young boys shirt. _"Do you see the blood, young Draco? See how it falls, and drips with ever beat of your tiny heart. Blood will be your greatest ally, as much as it shall work against you. I hope you are not your father's son." _It had taken the blonde months to fully comprehend the man's words. Draco dipped his thumb into the deep, bone white crevice, tracing the shape of Nagini. A...mascot, if you will, for the organisation. A ten foot long snake, half a foot wide with scales dotted with blood and the bone of her victims. So the legend stated.

The sound of his phone ringing from the next room brought him from his relaxation trance. He let out a forced sigh, running a hand through his dripping hair. Draco felt himself stare at the tap for the best part of a minute before he succumbed to duty and turned off the water. The towel, not matter the expense, rubbed against the sensitive flesh of his hips.

Draco decided on tight black jeans and a soft, black turtleneck, packing a pair of tracksuit pants and a large shirt into a bag. He gave a small, satisfactory smirk as he saw the garbage bag sitting next to the duffel bag, beside his front door. "That man is a wizard with locks," he chuckled, sending a quick text of thanks to Vincent for returning his things in what appeared to be perfect order.

_You're welcome, Dragon. I hope you enjoy- Crabbe_

The blonde raised an eyebrow at the reply and placed the phone into his pocket, settling his training gear filled bag on the kitchen counter. He knelt before the bags and fought with the black plastic before searching through his garments from yesterday. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Oh," he chuckled, unzipping the canvas of his duffel bag, exposing the Tupperware container filled with chocolate cherry tiramisu. "You domestic bugger," Draco smirked, pulling the chilled container out, wiping away the condensation with his thumb. He took off the lid and licked it with a soft moan, pulling his phone out again, unlocking it with nimble fingers.

_I am going to end you one of these days, Crabbe. And no, that isn't to be taken literally. If you continue to send me sweets I'll never be able to fit into ventilation shafts, or even one of Riddle's jets. –Dragon_

The reply came as Draco dumped the bags in his room, and returned to sit on the counter, practically making love to his dessert. "It is the chocolate, and the cherries are the sun," he recited, licking the spoon clean before dipping it back in.

_Well, of course Dragon. It's so I can steal your job, I mean, who wouldn't want a chef with shaking fingers as an assassin? As long as you aren't reciting poetry to it, I think you should be fine. –Crabbe_

_It's not poetry this morning. It's Romeo and Juliet. Act 2, Scene 2. And it was needed. Father is nagging me again. Riddle wants to see me- Dragon_

_Oh Lord, Dragon. You're being a bloody sap over some cream and chocolate. And please stop butchering Shakespeare. No one can write a three day tragedy like Billy. Master wants to meet with you? Maybe it's considering your latest job. For what's-her-name and the one with the nice arse –Crabbe_

_Honestly Vince, you're incredibly insufferable this time of a morning. I am not 'butchering' Shakespeare, and it's not just cream and chocolate. Stop talking about the love of my life like that. And please get laid. My clients are becoming weary of your wandering eyes –Dragon_

_Don't act like you weren't doing it either. I happen to know that the 'girl' you've been telling your parents about, what was her name, Ivanna or something, is actually Blaise. And you aren't even dating him. He just comes at your every beck and call. It isn't even 'FWB', it's a whole Master and Slave relationship, and not in the kinky way. –Crabbe_

Draco licked the container clean, smoothing his tongue over his lips before he placed the tub in the sink, along with the spoon. Well, it _was _true. Blaise was one of the newest members of the Death Eaters, and he did follow Draco around like a lovesick puppy, batting his sad chocolate eyes. Was it awful of him? Incredibly. But how could Crabbe lecture him about love? His close friend was a romantic through and through, except he spent all his time pining after Gregory Goyle, an information specialist who worked in the more public area of the Death Eaters. He worked in the main offices, answering phone calls from clients, organising transportation and fine tuning false identities before they were sent to agents while Draco and Vincent were among the more practical workers.

_Well, I have to go and open up, Dragon. But seriously, maybe it's time to either ask Blaise out, or put him down gently. Either way, this isn't healthy. I've got a shipment of blades coming in with a batch of chocolate from Belgium. I'll __be in later to show them to Bellatrix. Hopefully it won't end up like last time. __Ad vivendum,__repugnat__-Crabbe_

_I'll __take it into consideration Crabbe. Make sure you wear something protective around Aunty Bella. __Mori__, ad præliandum__- Dragon_

He let out a sigh and took the bag containing his change of clothes, and slung it over his shoulder, bringing the silver and green cigarette case from his duffel bag. The case contained the four other sleeper darts. A net worth of about half a million pounds in that small case with Nagini winking at him with an emerald set eye.

After leaving a small note in Spanish for his maid, he took his bag and trotted down the stairs. Draco shot a wink to the woman behind the desk, and smirked as he walked out the glass door, knowing his arse looked amazing in those jeans.

ϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟϞϟ

Draco drummed his long, pale fingers against the soft leather of the steering wheel, sighing as he did. There'd been a collision, only a hundred meters ahead of him, and now the traffic was being directed by a bisexual policewoman with two children and a cocker spaniel. Paramedics in eucalypt coloured uniforms morosely wheeled a body covered with a white sheet past his window before the bed was loaded into the ambulance. "What a right bloody mess," he sighed, running a hand over his face. From what he had seen, it seemed there were two casualties, a young man...And a child. The car had been taken away from the scene, and most of it had been blocked from reporter's cameras with sheets of tarpaulin. As the traffic moved gradually, and he moved closer to the underground offices of the order, his phone flicked to life.

_Morning Draco...Or Dragon I suppose, I know you don't like it when we call you Draco. Well, I just...You're late and your father is annoyed beyond belief. I hope you're okay. And just so you don't have to waste time, Master Riddle is waiting in Nagini's room. –Blaise _

"Oh you poor smitten fool," he sighed, raising a hand in response as he was finally allowed to drive forward more than a meter. The road started to clear ahead, but he held the phone in his hand and typed the response as he neared headquarters.

_Thank you, Blaise. I'll buy you lunch; there's something I need to talk to you about. And tell father to shove his head up his southernmost orifice. –Dragon_

Well, Draco supposed he better give Blaise a chance. Maybe he might draw the dark skinned man away from being such a little Igor, and instead independent like the blonde was. Blaise? Independent? What on earth was he thinking?

As his sleek Nissan dropped into the underground parking, under the glass and steel skyscraper, his father called. The call was rejected in the space of a second. Draco flashed the ring on his right index finger to the small scanner, hidden in the damp concrete wall. The red and white arm lifted, and hurriedly dropped as his sports car sped into the car park. He jammed on the breaks, parking next to Blaise's BMW, and grabbed his bag.

After three more security checks and a sharp word with Sebastian from security, he was storming through the halls, of what could've been any expensive law office. "Watch your back," he muttered to Pansy as her arms were full with briefing files and a tray of coffees. She used to work along with Draco, not to his level, but she could handle a gun and shake her hips to get what she wanted. But almost ten months ago, the pug faced woman made a vital mistake. She let her feelings interfere, and now she was sent to work in the offices indefinitely.

"Morning Dragon," she said coldly, breathless.

He rolled his eyes at her tone and pressed his ring into the control panel beside the narrow elevator. As the doors slid open, he entered the lift and adjusted the hold of his bag. The elevator was nothing special, except for the words in Latin that adorned every official Death Eater area. To live, to struggle. To die, to fight. Quite a morose motto, but it did hold that certain sense of enlightenment that of course, could only come from an ostentatious motto written in Latin and imprinted along the curve of a silver and green snake. It was a kind of farewell, hence the words between himself and Crabbe.

"Good Mfnorning, Mr Malfioy," came the glitching, electronic voice.

"Good morning, Mrs Norris," he replied sweetly, "and how are you this fine morning?"

"You are advised, Mr. Malfioy, not to flirt with colleagues."

Draco chuckled, "Of course, darling. I'll try my very best." The sense of familiar vertigo swelled up inside of him as the elevator dropped to the original levels of the Death Eater Association. The original order and these catacombs were over a hundred years old. Now, in the year 2012, the order was growing to almost three hundred members. A hundred or so assassins and the rest were the plebeians, though he had to remember not to call them that in company.

"Sir, you fa'her and the Master lie in Nagini's-"

"I've been informed, Mrs. Norris, but thank you."

A small latch opened in the side of the stainless steel panelled elevator, exposing a ceramic mug filled with coffee so dark it was almost black. "Your favourite, sir. I think you shall need it."

Draco grinned and took the cup into his hands, breathing in the deep aroma of the Brazilian brew. "Mrs. Norris….You are by far my favourite artificial intelligence, I've ever come across."

The doors slid open into a dark corridor, lit by tall candlesticks and small oil lamps.

"I do try sir," came the automated reply, with just a tad of cheek.

"Of course you do, pet," he murmured, nursing the cup in his hand.

Draco negotiated the winding corridors and closed oak doors, his leather clad feet making soft sounds on the solid wood floor-polished to perfection. He let out a short sigh as the grand, ornate door came into view. A scene of the giant Nagini slaying hordes of soldiers, her head cocked as a lone soldier confronted her with his sword spread out in offering. The legend was, this soldier was only a young man, a weak recruit, but he was smart. He offered the giant serpent his sword and surrendered, but as the snake bent down to snatch away his sword, the man leapt onto her head and dug his heels, with the spurs still attached from riding his mount, into the serpent's eyes, leaving her blind. Nagini fled, and was still rumoured to be hiding under great cities, seeking revenge as her power grew. But of course, it was only a legend.

The door was opened by his mother, somehow sensing his presence. She gave him a warm smile and ushered him inside, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Draco, darling."

He returned the kiss and took a sharp sip of his coffee, "Your hair...You've changed it."

Narcissa gave a small nod with closed eyes, moving a hand to Draco's arm a she guided him through the doorway.

"It suits you, Mother," he murmured, his eyes flicking between the two men in the centre of the room, before moving back to his mother.

"Draco," said his father, clearing his throat. "Master Riddle has been wait-"

"Oh please, Lucius," spoke the man, chuckling softly, "stop trying to hold authority. It is too humorous. Like watching an ant stand up to the boot."

The blonde man's mouth quickly shut, something incredibly interesting seemed to appear on the floor. Draco smirked and dropped the hand with his coffee to the side as he gave a small bow to the man. Master Riddle sat on a throne made of curved cast iron, the dull light of the candles flickering over the contours and ridges on the throne. Two serpents ran along as armrests before the heads of the iron beast's heads met and curved around each other.

Riddle was a pale man with dark ebony hair that fell in soft curls around his face. He appeared closer to Draco's age rather than Lucius' and had dark green eyes. Just like the boy he'd seen in the cab. Haley? He rested his head on a slender hand and appeared like a bored child, blinking his dark eyes slowly. "Welcome Draco," he said with a smile. Honestly, it was scary how young the man looked. And no one knew his age...At least...No one lived through the knowledge.

"Master Riddle," Draco greeted, tilting his head.

"Ah, Draco. More like your mother every day. Beautiful, sharp, intelligent..."

"You flatter me so," he teased lightly, taking another sip.

Tom grinned, exposing ghostly white teeth, "You're a clever little Dragon, aren't you Draco?"

Draco smirked and gave a small shrug, "Well, I do try. Now, by the records, you're meant to be in Mali until the end of December."

Riddle sighed loudly and stretched his tall body until his feet were over the other arm rest, his head still rested on his feminine hand. "Mali...Mali...Mali fell through...Most of our African colleagues need to be reminded who is in charge. We lost one of the Blacks...Such a shame..."

"Regulus," said his father, his eyes downcast.

Draco raised his eyebrows, biting his lip. Regulus? They were related...Cousins? His mother was a Black before she married Father. He'd admired the man's work with a blade...He was the man who'd helped with Draco's training. Draco, of course, wouldn't sniffle and reach for his parent's embrace, so instead he let out a sigh. "_Ad vivendum,__repugnat__. __Mori__, ad præliandum__." _

Riddle gave a small nod, "But of course, you were not asked to come here to hear of our failed exploits. I've been asked of you...A government job in a way."

Draco's eyebrows raised again, "A government job? But surely not the Bri-"He was cut off by Riddle's nod.

"The British government indeed, Draco. And in particular...Well, you've read the papers." His mother slipped a purple file into his hand. Purple? Oh this was going to be special...

Draco flicked through the ordered pages with shots of a brown haired man, sipping coffee, at press conferences and...a soccer game? "James Potter. Forty two years old. Married...Uh...widower...And one son." His watery blue eyes flicked back to Riddle. "Someone ordered a hit on _Potter?_" James was the opposition leader and was attracting growing support. It was expected of him to completely reshape the British government, even after the growing efforts from his competitors.

"I know...Exciting isn't it?" smirked Riddle. Draco hadn't done _anything _like this...Not many people had. The most influential person he'd ever hit was the eighth in line to be King of Denmark. An opposition leader? Someone who was constantly in the spotlight?

"We need the best, Draco," piped up his father. "We need someone...something _more_ than just an assassin. We need an actor."

Draco scoffed, "An actor? It rather comes with the job, Father."

"Oh little Dragon," chuckled Riddle, "such a sharp tongue. What I believe your father was trying to say is that this is longer than a typical job. You'll be...hmm...assimilated into another life. For longer than you will be used to. This job will take anywhere between six and eighteen months, perhaps longer."

"I'll be a...live in assassin?" he said, his forehead creasing at the obscene thought. "How is that even worth it? I could make a hundred hits in return for this one man...Why the bother?"

Riddle's eyes turned dark as his lithe form shifted in the throne, his father looked ready to vomit. "The bother, dear one, is because I want him gone...He is a long time...nemesis, I believe would be the fitting name for him, and when you work under my rule, you will do as I say. Is that perfectly clear?"

Draco gave a curt nod, "Of course, Master, I was merely inquiring about the...logic of this. I now see this is in our best interests." What the actual fuck? He was supposed to _live in?_ Why?! All it would take was a bullet and a carefully stationed Draco. Honestly...Riddle needed to, for lack of a better word, chill.

"How long is he to be living away?" asked his mother, attracting the attention of all the men.

Riddle smiled at her warmly, well, it would have looked warm on anyone else but it rather looked like a wild beast cornering an injured doe. "Draco shall be living in the same suburb as the Potters for as long as necessary for him to be close enough to the target."

"The Potters?" inquired his father. "I was lead to believe that James was alone."

"His son," grinned Tom like a Cheshire cat, "and the key component to this job."

_Oh no...Please tell me he isn't considering-_ thought Draco. He sighed and answered his own thought, "His son...The photo's show James as a caring man who very obviously loves his son...And if I am to... 'befriend' him, I will be able to get close enough and be able to attack the man at his most vulnerable."

Riddle clapped the sound echoing like thunder in the cavernous room. "Well done, young Draco. You really are a marvel...And you shall live in your own residence whilst attending school and incorporating yourself into any hobbies that the Potter boy may have."

Draco shook his head with a smile on his lips, "Oh dear...It appears I misheard you...It almost sounded as if I am to 'attend school' with the boy..." His eyes darted, unable to see any jest from Riddle or his father. "I'm returning to _school_?!" he scoffed, his eyes widening.

"You're still young Draco, and from what I hear from your father, you are commonly asked for an ID. You will return for your senior year, as will the boy. A perfect match."

He sighed and ran a hand through his silky hair, "So...let me get this crystal clear...I am to return to school and befriend James Potter's son. Then, at some sort of 'play date' I am to strike and kill the man, then flee back to London and hide in my flat and pray I haven't been caught."

Riddle smirked and crossed his ankles, entwining his fingers, "So you do understand me? Wonderful, young Draco. I know you will not let me, your family, or your colleagues down."

Narcissa placed a hand on his arm, "Well...Draco...What is it to be? Will you accept this assignment?"

Draco grinned and took a sip of his still warm coffee. "Please," he scoffed, "going back to school to seduce the son of one of the most powerful men in the British government, and then in turn, killing him and reaping in what can only be a royal amount of money?" His eyes flicked from his father, to his mother and then to the ethereal man in front of him.

"Where do I sign?!"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**_

**Deary me, it certainly has been a long time. My extensive apologies to all, and I hope to have this finished before the new year. But several of my original works, and other stories similar to this one have been pooling my attention. Now, this chapter contains R rated content, and maybe it will be deleted, but hopefully the majority of my readers shall be able to read this before the worst happens. Please enjoy, and I'd love it if you could spare the time to leave me a review. A special thanks to snowflake-eyes3216, ME-MK4ever, Atari 9, emerald.05, LalalaSpacingInPandaLand, GhostGypsy and dogsby for reviewing chapter two, and thank you to everyone who has read, or favourited this story and me as an author.**

**And a snog from Draco and Blaise for all of these lovely people:**

**-CheongyAryan  
-GhostGypsy  
-LalalaSpacingInPandaLand  
-ME-MK4ever  
- Master Ice (Love you, sweety!)  
-NixDragoon  
-Sea of Vinegar  
-Gaaraxnaru  
-Realworldiscruel  
-Twilightluver15  
-Agent Kittens  
-Atari 9  
-AwesomeLlamaLincoln  
-Hyper-Mused  
-Keira123  
-KiaCoral  
-Marked Goddess  
-PosionSkittle  
-The Walrus I Am  
-Xadriana Daratrazanoff  
-Blockhead77  
-Kakashi Dreamin  
-Primaaryet  
-Snowflake-eyes3216  
-Witchfromnowhere  
-xxGrAcExx  
and last, but not least, zazuzarzu**

**"Your friends will die if you don't."**

**"Everyone."**

_**- I am James Moriarty**_

**Disclaimer- The characters in this story are owned by JK Rowling and Warner Bros. No offence is meant.**

Draco grimaced as yet another stack of paper files on the Potter boy was pulled from a filing cabinet and then placed into his awaiting arms. Honestly, he'd been on big jobs, but the preparation was nothing like this. Usually it was a few files; some money for clothes and groceries for the period of time, and then Draco would pack up his arsenal of choice and head off to his post. His eyes were drawn to the name on a salmon coloured file, 'Potter'. It struck a note in his mind. Like an itch to scratch, but it was difficult to determine where exactly he needed to scratch. Potter, of course, was a rather common name, and no doubt he'd heard it before, but his mind was like a computer. He only kept inside the vital information, like how many possible entrances and exits were in a particular building, or the traits of a cocaine user. Draco's mind pulled up the image of a dark haired couple, Liza and Mark Potter, well, that of course was their alias, but it wasn't anything he could add to the assignment. "This is his list of allergies, medical conditions and hospital files," said the rounded man, pulling Draco from his thoughts. "My own work," the worker boasted, puffing up his chest. Draco noted the buttons on his dress shirt- as well as the sweat stains under his arms, down his back and around the collar- straining and pulling the fabric further apart. He'd never seen buttons work harder. He cleared his throat, realising he'd been off in his own thoughts and was yet to comment. "Thank you, Mister...?" he asked with a thin smile.

"Finch-Fletchley!" he said so quickly that Draco almost expected the man to throw a fit. The blonde moved a slight step back for cautionary measures. "Ah, that, is, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Mister Malfoy. Second assistant to the head of Communications and Media."

A hacker. Well, that would explain it. Quite obvious now that Draco had been told. The dark haired man had large, flabby cheeks with spidery veins of scarlet that ran like a map of the underground over his nose and around the top of his cheeks. His shiny hair was raked back with copious amounts of gel, showing his slightly receding hairline. Mister Finch Fletchley could not have been much older than Draco, but Draco was cursed with looking like a teenager while Justin seemed to be falling at the opposite end of that spectrum. There was a tick in his hand, one that had been irritating Draco since the moment he entered the pastel coloured office in search of files on the subject. He was obviously itching to get back onto a keyboard. Fletchley's clothes said, 'Cheap' and 'Worn' but in his position he could easily be payed half a million pounds annually. Aha... A gambler. The twitch was not from a lack of a computer, per say, but rather being away to the websites to which he was a member. His clothes said gambler, his lips said professional, and his wedding ring says... separation. Fletchley had become so used to wearing it that he hadn't noticed it still rested on his finger.

"What... is your tip for the match this weekend, Manchester against Newcastle?" he asked after a moment, his voice low and velvety. A politician's voice, as his father would call it. "Surely you know your way around a football pitch?"

The man stared at Draco for a moment, almost to the extent that the blonde thought Fletchley was having a stroke. The brunette clutched the remaining folders under his arm and pulled himself up to his full height. "Well sir, I am a great fan of the game. I'd be happy to acquire tickets-"

"Terribly sorry, but I seem to have incorrectly explained my intentions," he said sweetly, as if explaining to a child. "When I asked you for your tip, I was not offering the chance for you to kiss my boots in order to leech a promotion off of me." Draco smirked and slid the remained of the files from the hacker' s arms as his sagging cheeks turned red in indignation and he spluttered, flapping his lips as he searched for the words.

Draco slid past him, the files now tucked safely under his arm, "Thank you, Flanders. I'll be sure to pass on your... dedicated work ethic, though I do recommend not using your company credit card for future transactions."

"M-Manchester!" the man said finally, begging for Mister Malfoy to turn. He'd blown it... With Draco Malfoy. He wished he could have been surprised how the man knew about his gambling habits, but it was a fable passed through the workers on the lower levels that the Malfoy's knew everything and that there were cameras planted in the training suites. But these were mostly incorrect assumptions. Cameras weren't just planted in the training suites. They also dotted the walls in the cafeteria, kitchens, washrooms and most meeting areas. 'One can never be too careful,' his father had replied when Draco had asked if so many cameras were truly necessary, 'there are daggers hidden in men's smiles.'

Draco cracked his neck and smirked, "Manchester it is then… Would you… bet your life on it, Mister Flanders?"

"It's Finch… Fletchley…" he mumbled, slumped over. The proud peacock had just met the dragon. And the dragon loved to toy with pretty things.

Draco turned his head and looked at the rounded man, making sure he looked down his nose as he left the private office. He walked through the Communications floor, full of shouts and ringing phones, thinking upon something his mother had once told him. 'Never burn bridges,' Narcissa had said as she tended to her roses, 'because some day, Draco, your life may depend on you crossing that bridge.'

'But mother,' he had groaned from the hammock where he'd been inspecting his latest bruise from Lucius, 'people are nothing like bridges, how can you expect me to follow an analogy that doesn't even make sense. You might as well compare a blue bird and a toad...'

She tutted and pulled the flower from a Blue Moon rose bush, "But yet you walk over them, build them up, and tear them down. They can fail you and when the time comes, you're thankful it's there."

It was a thought that had struck his teenage self, leading to admittedly, wasted time reading some of the books of architecture in the manor's own library. Burning bridges… Breaking vital connections. It felt as if a cartoon angel and devil popped up onto his shoulder and started bickering with each other.

'But he was only thinking of himself, selfish!' cried the devil.

'He's insecure, and was trying to find seek comfort and support,' protested the angel, which Draco could imagine was dressed in a silken gown with a pair of tiny jewelled wings.

The blonde passed Justin's desk on his way to the elevators, and the angel and devil disappeared from his shoulders as he wrote a small note to 'Flanders'. He slipped from the huge office that resembled a call centre more than anything else and into a wood panelled lift. "London Bridge is falling down… Falling down… Falling down," he mused with a delighted smirk on his face.

His mother was right, as she always was. Burning the bridge with Justin, as he had with many plebeians over the years, was something he was going to regret. But there was one thing Narcissa had neglected to tell him.

Burning bridges was fun.

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"Draco, darling," his mother cooed as she saw him struggling to balance close to twenty files and a bulky box, covered in warningly large block letters that spelt out 'Confidential'. "You should've gotten one of the archives boys to help you with this!"

Draco didn't bother protesting as she took the cardboard box from his hands and held it, somehow elegantly, at her side.

"Honestly father," he scolded, looking at him with teasing mock indignation as the elder Malfoy leant against the wall, his fingers twitching towards the long blade he kept hidden in his cane, "mother should not have to carry a box as heavy as that."

Lucius narrowed his eyes at his only son- or rather, his only legitimate son- before yanking the box from Narcissa's hands. "You shouldn't be so damn disrespectful, Draco," he hissed, his cold, slitted eyes practically burning holes through Draco's.

"Language, Lucius!" chastised Narcissa, placing the box into her husband's to let him know that this was not the time, nor the place for such a scene. She brushed a nonexistent crease from the blue and ivory gown that swirled around her ankles and clasped her navy handbag with her perfectly buffed and polished fingernails. "It is time for lunch now, darling. Is it not? Come now, Draco. Surely you must dine with us."

Draco smiled as he watched Lucius struggle like a naughty child that had been tattled to his mother, his arms winding around the cardboard box. The older man grunted, seemingly to clear his throat, but Lucius often grunted like a wild pig when things didn't go his way. "I suppose that would be-"

"Perfect, Mother," smiled Draco, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I must meet with Blaise and discuss something first."

"Perhaps it is best if you talk to Agent Zabini after we eat," suggested his mother with a raised eyebrow. "Master Riddle wants this whole thing to be kept incredibly secret. It's the largest project the Death Eater's have been trusted with and it could be dangerous to you, and to our family, if something were to go wrong."

"Only us four shall know the whole story, even though we'll need the input of several office workers, they won't be told everything," added his father in a low murmur.

"And you're simply wasting away, Draco," added his mother, trying to lighten the mood. "I thought that darling Ivanna was meant to be taking care of you?"

Draco sighed and adjusted the sleeve on his jumper, giving a small nod. "Just give me a moment, Mother. I really must talk to Blaise, and I swear on my life, I won't tell him anything."

Ivanna... Well, his parents surely didn't object to Draco experimenting with men as it were. Narcissa wanted what was best for him, obviously as his mother, it was her stereotypical opinion. It was only a shame that Ivanna didn't exist. The perfect woman was nothing more than a phantom who took her life and quirks from people around Draco. Her personality came from Blaise, her quirks from Pansy and her love from Crabbe and Goyle. As a writer crafts a character, Draco had made Ivanna his work of art and had spent a weekend of planning. It seemed petty, and immature, but it was the only way to stop his parents from nagging, or rather worrying and for him to enjoy his 'paintings'.

His parents wanted him to find their idea of the perfect woman- breasts, rich, a privileged name and someone who wouldn't mind being the wife of someone who killed people for a living- but it wasn't as if he didn't find women attractive, he simply preferred the kind of lover with a penis, and not breasts. Bisexual, you could call him, or perhaps pansexual, but Draco preferred to see it as being a lover of the finer and more beautiful things in life. Like a priceless Van Gough, it didn't matter if someone else could see the meaning, or beauty of something, it didn't mean Draco didn't.

Lucius and his mother shared a heated glance, seeming to be having a heated conversation in their minds. Ah! The joys of marriage. He could see it, like the final of Wimbledon, going on back and forth between their eyes.

"Well, I don't seem to know of any reason why not," said his mother slowly, as if she was just waiting for Lucius to object.

The older man kept deathly still and sighed through clenched teeth before he turned to his son, his eyes as cold and angry as ever. "One hour, Draco. We shall meet you at café Michel."

Narcissa smiled and leaned down to press a small kiss to Draco's cheek. "It's a wonderful plan, darling. I know my Draco can't stand to be parted from his chocolate desserts."

Draco chuckled and took a step back, "Of course, Mother. I think Crabbe is trying to fatten my up like a lamb for slaughter."

Lucius gave a wry smile and turned on his heel, not answering, or at least jesting in return. How encouraging. His mother walked beside Lucius and turned her head to smirk at him. As much as his father wanted, Narcissa wasn't a follower. She would never bow to Lucius, or do something she was forced to do. She was the type of woman that had become extinct over the years. He constantly thanked whatever deity he thought of at the time that Narcissa Malfoy was his mother, and not some mindless whore.

Draco found himself alone in the corridor, letting himself breathe and procrastinate for a moment before his meeting with Blaise. He caught himself singing under his breath as he headed towards the training rooms.

"I'm putting off procrastinating, until next week… I'll get down to it, when I give a shit."

This was awfully unfortunate, because as it regarded Blaise, he did give a shit.

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Draco heard the faint grunting coming from the almost fully padded door of training room 221 B and immediately his head swam with the blatant sexual innuendos. He cracked his neck, almost as if he was anticipating an attack, and turned the handle.

"One," Blaise wheezed, cracking his fist into punching bag, "two…three."

"Four?" teased Draco with a raised eyebrow. He stepped into the plain white, regulation room, with the floors and the majority of the walls covered with bright blue safety mats. The dark skinned man panted and looked up from the punching bag, a breathless smile on his face. Sweat ran in heavy pearls down Blaise's sinewy forearms, the smell of his cologne mingled with sweat and made Draco lick his lips. Blaise's chest was bare, and covering him from the waist down was a pair of blue tracksuit pants with white stripes up the side. His favourite pair. It shocked him that he knew, and he immediately excused it as a note from his skills of deduction and not from his relationship with the man.

"Dragon!" grinned Blaise, placing a hand on the punching bag to still it. He let out a huff and ran a hand over his sweat dotted face before starting to unwind the thick tape covering his hands. "I've got big news for you."

Draco smiled weakly and walked over the rubber covered floor, nudging the bag with the pad of his index finger. "So... working out," he began with his pale eyebrow raised, his eyes flicking to Blaise, "how's that going for you, Zabini?"

"Is that your way of getting me all hot and bothered?" he teased, wrapping his fingers around Draco's wrists. Blaise's dark eyes held Draco's for the length of three heartbeats, the breath being drawn from the blonde's lungs by the closeness and tender touch of his lover. Draco swore his heart had fluttered like a hummingbird's and left his chest, leaving his chest empty and aching. It was his conscience, he could have sworn, that tugged on his bronchioles and bronchi and made his chest as tight as a piece of elastic.

"Blaise," he murmured in a soft warning as dark fingers traced the outline of his jaw. "We can't."

The dark haired man raised his eyebrows cheekily in question, before he lowered his head, stopping a breath away from Draco's lips. "Can't?" he repeated with smirk as his hands slid down to the waist of Draco's jeans. "I didn't think..." Blaise murmured slowly, "that the word 'can't' would be in your extensive vocabulary, Dragon."

Draco's mouth parted, and a combination of a gasp and a growl was heard echoing throughout the room, as if he had screamed. His chest began to tighten and ache, like he was the small boy looking in awe at the pictures in a catalogue. Why did it have to be Blaise to make him feel this way; like he was nothing more than a child again? Breathing became optional as Blaise covered Draco's lips with his own. A shallow breath left Draco as his hands slowly slid to the dark skinned man's hips, pulling him closer. He hadn't kissed anyone like he had kissed the man in front of him. Usually it was a one night stand, friends with benefits... But he hardly ever kissed them, except for appearances or to placate them. Blaise was different. Blaise was always different.

His lips were incredibly full for a man, more plump than Draco's, and he always tasted of the Peppermint balm he rubbed onto them when they started to chap. Soft, melodious sounds of lips meeting and breath being taken filled the blaringly white room that smelt of plastic. Blaise had his hands around Draco's lithe waist; stabilising him, grounding him, as he pulled his head back slightly, deep chocolate eyes boring into Draco's.  
"It's Korea," he said with a small smile, his eyes searching for praise, or at the very least, acceptance. Draco's cardiovascular system became engulfed in flames, and he could feel the blood draining from his already pale face.

His mind immediately flicked through the images like a search engine, and Draco found himself wishing he could forget things like normal people could. It was probably the first instance in his adult life where he wished he were normal.

"Draco," came Blaise's voice, sounding so far away until his warm hand came to caress Draco's cheek once more. The pale man's eyelashes fluttered, and he gave his head a small shake as he plastered 'The Malfoy Smirk' onto his lips.

"Korea? Blaise, that's incredible," said the Dragon. It seemed that false words were all that could be said at that moment.

"Stop lying through your teeth and just listen for a sec, Draco," Blaise huffed, a cheeky grin never leaving his face. "I know what Korea happens in Korea. Funnily enough you don't have to be a Malfoy or a Riddle to know what goes on there."

The words, 'extermination', 'concentration camps', and 'disease' came to mind.

"I'm not being sent over for punishment, for Gods sakes!"

Draco blinked, his mercury coloured eyes alert and questioning. "The camps... You're-"

"I'm being sent to control it, Draco!" Blaise cried in exasperation and excitement. "You're looking at the future coordinator of the Death Eater Correctional Facility in Seoul."

Draco's arms immediately wrapped around the darker man. He knew eight languages, and one of them was Korean, but he could find no words in any language that could express anything he was feeling right at that moment. He rested his head on Blaise's shoulder and leaned against him, just wanting to feel the planes of his chest, and the touch of stubble against his neck.

"Hey... What's this for, huh?"

Draco closed his eyes and released his hold, before standing back to admire his lover. "You're incredible, you know that? Korea is one of our top areas for development, and now that Regulus isn't there to oversee things... Blaise, I'm just..."

"Hm, proud?" he chuckled, running his palms down the curvature of Draco's back, his fingers smoothing over each impossibly perfect vertebrae.

"Mmm," the blonde hummed, leaning back and cupping Blaise's face. Draco let a trademark smirk cross his lips before kissing Blaise, nipping playfully at his full lower lip-well, fuller than Draco's anyhow.

"Does this mean I get 'Blaise I'm so proud of you, sex'?"

Draco snorted and brushed a stray strand of ivory hair from his eyes, "As if I would ever be so crass as to... reward you with sexual favours."

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The two men stumbled into the storeroom, hands frantically pulling at buttons and lips wantonly moving against each other. Draco let out a soft grunt as Blaise pushed him against the wall, pressing a knee against his groin and rubbing it against the bulge in Draco's jeans. The walls pushed against Draco's back, as if they were trying to push the blonde closer to Blaise. Normally, the proud Malfoy would have several objections to being shoved into nothing more than a cupboard, that reeked of the clinical smell of the mats and the disinfectants used on them.

"It's a shame we'll be getting these dirty," Blaise murmured before attacking Draco's neck with rough lick, nips and bites. His lips were always something that could make Draco's prick twitch in excitement, and make his breath turn into tiny ghosts of air. "They make your legs look fantastic, so they _must _be expensive."

Draco tilted his head to the side, his fingers running over the short stubble of Blaise's hair. He hadn't been so sure when Blaise had shaved it- the agent had thought it was a good idea to look the part of a typical military man-, but it was beginning to grow on him. No pun intended. The feeling of the other man's peppermint coated lips of his neck was enough to have his prick throbbing within the confines of his jeans, the unseen hairs on his neck prickling from the contact.

"Oh... Oh they are, and I swear to God-" Odaxelagnia. The feeling of pleasure coming from being bitten. And didn't Draco _love _to be marked? Love to have the marks and scars on his neck, like they were a watermark. All his scars were worn proudly and the scars from someone he loved? Worn with a pride that rivalled any other.

"Shh, you're putting me off." Blaise knew the way that Draco was perceived, and how he was expected to behave in the big bad world. Hold your head high, Draco. Obey all orders, Draco. Help us kiss the Dark Lord's arse, Draco. And he was just an agent. Accepted after years of training, after years of giving everything he had to the company, rather than being born into it. He was sometimes envious of Draco in this respect, but he also pitied him for the same reason.

Draco let out a strangled moan; the feeling of the rough assault on his neck, combined with Blaise's knee gently teasing his clothed erection was enough to make him gurgle in a cacophony of lust and frustration. Well, the gurgling wasn't intended. He was meaning to give a lengthy rant about how Blaise was being a tease, and how he should be getting shagged against the wall right now but-

"You... fucking wanker! Stop-Gods-... Stop teasing me." He couldn't help it. Years of schooling, tutors and enough money to wipe his arse with, and he loved it when he had the chance to curse and to say things without wondering how he sounded, or if his father would approve. Just the harsh words that could make him feel like he wasn't a product of his father. Just a tiny drop of water, falling away from the waterfall that nature intended for it.

Blaise slid his thumbs between the overheated flesh of Draco's hips and the soft cotton of his waistband, rubbing them in soft, massaging circles. He knew that Draco's hips jutted out from underneath a canvas of fine, porcelain skin- a result of the harder training placed on a juvenile body- and the curves of his muscle that arrowed down, as if sketched, to his groin. "I might have to borrow them sometimes... You reckon they'll make my arse look any better-Oh, who am I kidding?" The dark skinned man dropped onto his knees, kneeling against a thin, tattered training mat. Through all of the need and the angst, Blaise could always find the time to comment about his self admittedly 'amazing arse'. "My arse can't can any more-Hey!"

Draco smirked as he finally managed to shut up his lover with a quick slap to the side of his head, the bristles of his shaved head pricking his palm like a nail brush. He leaned back, his movements languid as if he'd choreographed them earlier with a curved back, and widened legs. If Blaise was asked, Draco looked more like he was awaiting an attack, rather than oral in a storeroom. "Now," Draco panted, his hips unconsciously shaking as his body was put under strain, "are you going to help me, or should I go find Crabbe?"

The dark denim slipped down to Draco's calves; the Armani undergarments following only moments later. Draco let soft sighs fall from his parted lips- stained red like the cherries he gorged-as the breath from Blaise's lips ghosted over his pale cock, which rose from a nest of down-soft, blonde curls.

And then Blaise made Draco wake from his dream.

"I think I'm going to miss this, Dragon."

Draco slammed his eyes shut, not wanting to imagine the millions of ways that his lover could die. After all, in Death Eater operations, accidents happened every day. Luckily for the field agent, the object of his morose thoughts placed the pads of his thumbs on Draco's thighs and leaned in until the humidity of his breath teased Draco further.

"Oh...OH!" Draco gasped, his eyelids flickering over mercury irises, and his head fell back against the wall of the storage room as the Blaise's tongue finally made contact with his prick.

Blaise loved the feeling of Draco in his mouth, weighing heavily on his tongue. He swore that Draco soaked his cock in the prissy cologne he adored so much, because whenever he took him into his mouth, his head throbbed from the assault of the perfume. He let a slow breath pass through his nose, before he started to lick Draco's prick, from the root to the leaking tip. The fluid was a taste that Blaise enjoyed immensely, the saltiness and the bitterness of his lover's precome and no amount of head shaking from Draco could have him change his ways.

Pure... _hnngh. _Sure, Draco was sure it wasn't a word in any of the languages he knew, but he believed it summed up the moment perfectly. Blaise's impossibly hot tongue was alternating between teasing his slit and rubbing against the sensitive ridges of his cock. He could feel himself leaking, and to his light disgust, Blaise suckling up every last drop as his fingers tenderly wound their way into his downy pubic hair and massaged the impossibly soft skin of his testicles. Draco's balls were incredibly sensitive and if Blaise continued with the almost loving caresses, he was sure he wouldn't last more than one week thrust.

And he was more or less right. After the sound of soft sucking, hushed moans and heavy breathing had filled the drawn out seconds, Draco found his body tensing and twitching as it prepared to orgasm. Blaise could write a list of each of the quirky ways that he knew that Draco would be coming soon. The hairs on his thighs stood on end, his panting would stop momentarily and his prick would soften slightly under his tongue. When Draco fell silent for a moment, Blaise sucked _hard_. The head of Draco's cock rubbed against Blaise's sticky contracting throat, until with grunt and a cry, semen was flooding down Blaise's throat.

Draco's salted fluid slipped down Blaise's throat, as he swallowed with practised ease, suckling every last drop from his twitching prick. As Draco softened, Blaise slowly removed the spent penis from his mouth and pressed a kiss to a pearly drop of semen on the top. He took care in licking Draco clean before gently pulling up his designer labels, as he did as the end of their oral encounters.

When they had both regained their composure, Draco smiled faintly, though it was a mask of what he was truly feeling, and kissed Blaise. His hair was a mess and an ugly blush was spreading across his collar.

"So... See you tonight?"

Draco licked his lips and nodded once, "Tonight."

And with that, the two lovers parted. Draco left in the automobile love of his life, and met with his father and mother, while the final changes were being made for agent Zabini and his transfer to Seoul's correctional facility.

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Go and click that little box below. Draco loves it. And I'd just like to add, that I'm looking for some special fans to dedicate chapters to. So, if you like this story, leave me a review (and don't be skimpy on the detail) and who knows? Something magical could happen.**_

_**Pun intended.**_


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